


Smoke and Mirrors

by thearcticfox



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Slight Canon Divergence, op pathfinder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2019-11-06 03:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearcticfox/pseuds/thearcticfox
Summary: Elliott had been a flirt all his life. He had a bad habit of falling in love at any little sign of kindness. But being in the Apex Games - it was a game of life of death. He had no energy to waste on schoolyard crushes. He had to focus on the mission. Even if he’d noticed that small smile she reserved just for him, when he told a bad joke, or the way she always seemed to know when he needed backup. How warm her hands were when she wrapped a bandage around him, how her tone seemed less bitter each time she called him foolish, the dimples on her cheeks and back -...Yeah, he was fucked.





	1. I

Elliot woke up the last day before the games painfully aware he still lacked a squad.

 

He was also painfully aware of the throbbing in his skull. There’d been a party for all the competitors last night, and he’d figured it would be the perfect place to find two team members. Shy wasn’t a problem for him - he’d hit up everyone he saw until something worked out.

 

From what he’d been told he had done that, but getting blackout drunk first hadn’t done him any favors.

Hadn’t it been televised, too? His mother would have some words for him later, that he was sure of.

 

Rolling out of bed with a groan, Elliot quickly swapped out his pajamas for the nearest clothes he could find. An old sweater and some jeans - it worked well enough. Fingers combed his hair, and he was ready to go. The compound-wide breakfast had already started, and it may be his last chance to find anyone to squad with. If he didn’t, he’d be removed from the Game.

 

Down the hall and the stairs, past a dozen identical doors, and then the space opened up, revealing a large commons area. Sleek black chairs surrounded each of the steel tables dotting the area. Along the far wall was a black marble counter, lined with steel serving dishes. Each was overflowing with goodies - croissants, fruits, smoked meats. He passed them all by. Instead he grabbed a strong cup of coffee and settled into his usual table. Unused by anyone else, and near the wall-length windows. The Sun still hadn’t rose, and the pale light was faint enough to not disturb his head.

 

He kept an eye out for anyone else alone, anyone he could approach for an alliance; but as it so turned out, they would come to him.

 

_“There he is! Friend, this is the Mirage I was telling you about. He is the one who performed a shotgun at the party last night!”_

 

Elliot turned, squinting at the people who had stopped by his table. A metallic blue robot, with a display screen torso paired with arms and mounted on two legs, made a smiling face at him. Elliot returned it, though he was certain it looked more like a grimace at this point.

 

Behind the machine stood a pale woman. Her skin was contrasted by jet black hair. She’d pulled it back, but some loose strands framed her round face and throat. She had a simple outfit of a scarf and crewneck over cargo pants tucked into boots. It was a dark outfit, but she didn’t appear morose. She was radiant still.

 

He couldn’t help but notice the way her eyelashes fluttered as she rolled her eyes at him.

 

“That’s great, Pathfinder,” she replied to the robot. “Can we go get coffee now?”

 

_“I cannot consume beverages, but you can of course! I would like to talk to Mirage.”_

 

At that, Elliot gave a real grin. They were a duo. Certainly they needed a third body, and someone they stopped to talk to was a great candidate.

 

The woman walked off to grab a cup of coffee and the robot sat in the chair beside him.

 

_“How are you feeling this morning, friend?”_ Chirped the machine. _“I researched the affects of alcohol - your head must be in pain!”_

 

Elliot gave a deep chuckle, rubbing a hand on his temples. “Yeah, it was a night.... I’m real sorry, buddy, but I don’t remember much. Could you remind me your name?”

 

_“I do not know what my creator titled me, but my title in the games is Pathfinder!”_

 

“Pathfinder, huh?” Coffee was helping the pounding in his head. Another long drink and he could respond. “I’m Mirage, but... you knew that. Right. It’s um, nice to formally meet you.”

 

_“Likewise! Your disregard for your human health last night was remarkably fascinating!”_

 

A second low laugh, less humorous this time.

 

“Well, I’m a fun drunk, that’s for sure.”

 

“I’d disagree.”

The woman Pathfinder had been with claimed an unoccupied chair and settled beside her partner.

 

“You’re an irritating drunk.”

 

“We meet too, huh?” Rubbing the back of his neck, Elliot drained the last of his coffee. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

 

“I never gave it.”

 

This time his laugh was nervous.

 

“Well, right. I, um... yeah. You guys are a duo?”

 

The robot nodded. “ _Pathfinder and Wraith! The future champions!”_

 

“Aha! So you’re Wraith.” He leaned forward in his chair, lacing his fingers together on the table.

 

She closed her eyes and sipped from her mug, but Mirage was certain her saw her eyes roll under their lids.

 

“I... also noticed you lack a third person.”

 

“You don’t have a squad?” Wraith inquired, tone even. She was impressively talented at keeping herself together, he noticed. Elliot could be a pester when hungover. And all other times. He was a big personality.

 

_“We do require a third member! Do you truly not have a squad?”_

 

“No, no, I don’t... I ah... queued alone, actually.”

 

_“You seemed quite popular yesterday!”_

 

“I think people were just watching the car crash, personally.”

 

“Thank you, Wraith. That means a lot.”

 

_“Well, I for one would welcome Mirage to our squad! Also, we are out of time.”_

 

Mirage pointed at Pathfinder in agreement. “We are all very out of time.”

 

Wraith bit her lip in thought, and Elliot couldn’t help as his eyes watched it. Her lips were chapped and cracking, and he found himself licking his own lips before mimicking her actions.

 

He was a flirt. He’d known that his whole life. But she was hard to keep eyes off of.

 

“Fine,” she murmured at last.

 

The chair squealed as Pathfinder stood abruptly. _“Hooray! We are a complete squad.”_

 

“The training center opens at seven. Meet you there then?”

 

“ _Positively!”_

 

“Uh... yeah, yeah. I’ll see you guys then.”

 

Pathfinder’s torso flashed a great big smiling face before he headed off. Wraith stood as he left, turning toward the door.

 

“Wraith! Wait.” He called out. She turned to him, giving a curious gaze.

 

“...Thank you. I’m ex- exc- happy to have a team.”

 

An odd expression crossed her face, and for a moment he could have sworn she was scowling.

 

“You’re welcome. Be on time.”

 

She turned on her heel and was gone.

 

Elliot leaned back in his chair. He’d get more coffee and then head for a shower. It seemed he was in for a day.

 

But he was in the Games now. No one could take that from him now.

 

A grin spread across his face, and Elliott felt truly excited for the first time in a while.


	2. II

Wraith had bought into Mirage’s image, she could admit. He painted himself as the laid-back party guy, always down for a good time. He boasted a sweeping win of his first and only prior Game - eight kills, despite being on his own a majority of the game. Media was easily persuaded to overlook his demonstrated ability in favor of his more fraternity style image.

 

It so turns out that being underestimated was part of his strategy, and she’d been naïve to let it happen to her.

 

Both their sparring lances were on the floor, knocked out of their hands by the other. Then it had become a pure sparring match, hands and fists flying, with a clapping robotic friend cheering them on. It had been a close fight - her chest was heaving with shortness of breath, all her energy poured into taking him down. Mirage was the same, sweat rolling down his face and frizzing his curls.

 

His hands were holding her wrists together, and the knee to her chest pinned her to the ground.

 

“I think I’m owned the win,” he painted, grinning. His hair fell down his left cheek, just long enough to brush her face.

 

She frowned. She’d thrown all her weight into trying to break his grip, but she simply didn’t have the mass. He was far too tall, had too much strength packed into his body. In a stealth mission she’d have him beat, but here, she was facing a true loss.

 

Once it was obvious he had her beat, he clambered to his feet and offered her a hand. She took it and was yanked to her feet.

 

“ _That was an exciting match, friends!”_ declared Pathfinder.

 

“Thanks, buddy,” Mirage called as he walked away. Wraith studied him as he did, noticing the casualness of his gait despite the rigidness of his shoulders. Even here he was trying to be suave. The other training squads could look over at any time. He wasn’t dropping the facade. But Wraith saw through it, and the voice whispered truths to her, telling her how close he’d been to losing.

 

She had swept the floor with him at the shooting range. He could have this victory for the moment.

 

When Wraith joined him at the benches to grab her water, she noticed with a flush that Mirage had tugged off his shirt. His chest was toned, tan skin smooth over a defined abdomen. With a jolt she turned away. Water soothed her parched throat, but the heat in her cheeks remained.

 

“ _Are you alright? Your face is red. My research says you may be overheated!_ ” Pathfinder’s concerned voice brought her back from the clouds, and she offered a small shake of her head.

 

“I’m fine, just worn out. But thanks.”

 

Mirage turned to look at her then, and Wraith bit her cheek, desperate not to look. They were teammates, and she would not allow herself any daydreams. Especially not when the only Mirage she knew was the image he put on for the crowds.

 

It was starting to come down around them. There was genuine concern and kindness in his eyes now as he looked at her; but she didn’t know the real him. She didn’t have time to waste on dallying in personas.

 

“Are you a-al-okay, Wraith? I didn’t mean to hurt you-“

 

He reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked back, harsher than she meant to.

 

He looked upset, but dropped his hand, concern still evident.

 

“I’m fine.”

 

All this over a blush at his lack of a shirt.

 

“ _Perhaps you need a break, friend. We should go to get lunch!_ ”

 

Mirage grinned at her. “Yeah, come on. Don’t wear yourself out. I’ll go change into clean clothes and meet you in a few?”

 

“ _I shall locate the best table. You like being near the window, don’t you, Wraith?_ ”

 

“I... yeah. Thanks.”

 

Pathfinder’s display screen flashed a smiling face before he ran off, Mirage not far behind. 

 

——

 

She felt better clean. Her hair was freshly knotted back, baggy shirt and sweatpants warm from the dryer. The plain clothes were easy to move in, and as she found her squad in the hall, it kept eyes off her.

 

Good, she thought. Forget me. You won’t see me coming.

 

All around her were future enemies. Perhaps it was just a game, perhaps all the dead would be routinely revived when it was over - but the pain of death was real. The injuries and the fear and the blood were real. She would not falter.

 

The only place Wraith could even consider being comfortable was sitting with her squad, tucked into a corner beside the long window. The Sun blazed down outside, harshly coloring the dark sand. Inside was cool. Air conditioning blasted through the ceiling vents, keeping a chill despite the bodies.

 

“ _I must disagree. The swamps are clearly the best place to land.”_

 

“No way, come on. The Thunderdome! It’s impossible to not find good loot.”

 

“ _It’s also impossible to not be first blood.”_

 

“Or spilling the first blood.”

 

_“Look, our companion is here. She can settle this. What is the best place to land?”_

 

Wraith raised an eyebrow as she took the empty chair across Mirage.

 

“I’m fine with the swamps,” she said. “It’s not a common landing, and the gear is solid. If it’s in the ring, we could camp the night there.”

 

Mirage frowned, whining about being right, when Wraith’s stomach growled. It was half past one, now, and with the exertion of training, her body needed food.

 

“Okay,” she murmured, shutting him up. “Are we getting lunch or not?”

 

“Uh, yeah, I could go for some.”

 

_“I shall guard our table!”_

 

Mirage stood and offered Wraith a hand in standing. She glared at it, not wishing to appear to be weak, but rejection would be rude. She took it, and with Pathfinder sitting at the table looking much too content for a robot, they headed toward the line for food.

 

“So,” he began as they walked. Wraith rolled her eyes. Of course this was coming.

 

“What, uh- what planet are you from? You’re too pale to be from here.”

 

She shot him a dark look. “Thank you.”

 

“No, I just mean - like - ugh, sorry. That was rude, wasn’t it?”

 

She looked down, picking at a fuzz on her shirt. She hadn’t meant to make him feel bad.

 

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, I’m not from here.”

 

He watched her, and she knew he picked up on her change of demeanor. She rolled her shoulders back. After all, she didn’t need assistance in seeming small.

 

“I’m from Solace,” he said gently. “It’s too cold here for me.”

 

She chuckled. “Solace? Your English is great.”

 

“Thank you. Most people know it there, but it’s hard. I’m sure you’ve noticed I trip on words.”

 

She nodded. It was hard not to, but it seemed rude to say anything.

 

“But you haven’t answered my question.”

 

Wraith sighed. It was time for the talk then, she supposed. Pathfinder knew her story from their previous pairings, and she knew he had her back. But it was hard to tell another. She had no idea how he’d react.

 

The line was hardly moving, and she tapped her fingers along the wall, carefully choosing her words.

 

“I don’t know where I’m from. When the IMC dissolved... I was released from my medical coma in one of their facilities.”

She left out that it was mental, or that she heard the voices. Knowing about her powers was enough.

 

“I don’t remember anything from before. My name, where I’m from, any family... it’s all black, any time I try and remember.”

 

Mirage’s eyes were wide, and for a long moment he simply stared.

 

“I’m... so sorry,” he replied after a while. “I had no idea.”

 

She turned away, finally grabbing a plate as the line moved forward.

 

“I’m fine. Don’t look at me like that.”

 

He followed behind her, hesitating, as if choosing words carefully.

 

“I know you are.”

 

She gave a him a dark look then. What did that mean, exactly? Did he see strength in her, or was he being condescending?

 

He saw her look, and they spent the rest of their lunch in silence.

 

———

 

More training, dinner, training again. Her teammates continued to impress her during their sparring matches. Mirage seemed to always know how she intended to move and block it, no matter how creative she found herself being. Pathfinder too was strong, and he showed off his ability in the range. Even with a fully automatic weapon, one with a wide spray and generally low accuracy, he never failed to pierce the bullseye.

 

Wraith was grateful they were on her side.

 

She demonstrated her own skills of course. It was best to warn them what she could do before they were in the ring. Pathfinder already knew from their previous fights together, but Mirage needed to know. If she opened a portal during a fight, he had to understand how to use it to survive.

 

He had seemed terrified falling through the void, but when he’d emerged, he’d given a cocky smile. Wraith wasn’t sure why she’d expected anything else.

 

It was half past nine now, and after another shower, she had changed into pajamas, but she couldn’t sleep. The night before the Apex Games was always a restless one, despite needing sleep the most then. The voices were never quiet. They knocked about in her head, some silent, some shrieking warnings of incoming danger, some simply singing. They built up behind her eyes in a searing pain, and as always, she curled into a ball against the pillows and clutched her head.The wailings grew louder, calling for her to run. Why was she jumping into danger? Was she a fool?

 

She likely was. But that didn’t change her mind. She had to find the truth.

 

The pain formed into tears, and they ran down her cheeks. She sniffed, wiping them away.

 

And footsteps past her door that she hadn’t noticed grew still. A hand knocked on her door.

 

“Wraith?” It spoke softly.

 

Mirage. She closed her eyes tightly, running her eyes red and dry. If she turned him away, he’d only be more concerned.

 

“Come in.”

 

The door clicked shut behind him. The bed settled under his weight as he sat on the side, facing her.

 

“Are... are you okay?”

 

Wraith nodded, running a shaking hand through her loose hair.

 

He wanted an explanation. She could give one, she supposed. It would even be partially true.

 

“My powers,” she murmured. “It hurts.”

 

His lips pursed and he nodded, quietly understanding. She almost felt bad for lying.

 

“You don’t have to use them, then. Path and I will work around it.”

 

She shook her head. “They keep us safe. I don’t care what it costs.”

 

“Maybe not,” he spoke, “but I do. You’re my partner. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

 

She rubbed her eyes again. Certainly they were red by now, swollen, but she couldn’t help herself.

 

“I’ll do what I have to. That’s it.”

 

Finally Wraith turned to meet his gaze, eyes narrow.

 

“Don’t hesitate during a fight. I won’t.”

 

He gave his usual smile and stood. The moment was over, then.

 

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

 

She sighed, head dropping back into her hands.

 

“Mirage?”

“Yeah?”

“...Thanks for checking on me.”

 

She didn’t look up, but she heard the door open.

 

“You can call me Elliott here. Mirage is only my name for the Game.... and you’re welcome.”

 

He slipped out, and she slipped beneath the blankets, both dreading the next day and begging for it to come.


	3. III

The hum of the drop ship was a familiar one. Elliott felt the buzz in his veins, every turbulent jostle in his heart. He knew he could be flying into a shallow grave, especially as the returning Apex Champion - but he couldn’t deny the excitement at the return. He bounced on the balls of his feet, hands already itching for a trigger.

 

Beside him, Wraith had one leg up as she leaned against the wall, arms crossed. She didn’t look very relaxed. Her eyes spanned the large crowd of bodies around them as though hunting for weaknesses, searching for anything to give them an advantage. Unfortunately for her, Pathfinder seemed to have quite an opposite objective in mind. His energy was contagious, even spurring on Elliott to bounce higher.

 

“ _How exciting, friends_!” He called out, hands shaking like in an old jazz film. “ _My very first Apex Games!”_

 

“And your last,” Wraith hissed, “If you keep drawing all this attention to us.”

 

_“That almost sounded like a threat. Invigorating!”_

 

“Aw, leave him alone,” Mirage chimed in, chin gesturing to their robotic friend. “Nothin’ wring with being excited. And besides, I’m the returning champ.” Never one to be too proud to throw out a subtle flex. “I’ll protect ya.”

 

“Say that louder, would you? I don’t think the whole ship heard you.”

 

He knew well as anyone that being the returning winner painted a target on you, but he wasn’t afraid. His banner would be displayed soon anyway, and the select few who weren’t already staring would know who he was soon enough.

 

The grin on his face was cheeky, though. He was never one to mind a little attention.

 

Their HUDs confirmed Wraith was jumpmaster, and after a short (and whispered) conversation, they agreed to drop at the swamps. It was very close to the Repulsor hot drop, so they’d be safe to find loot before quickly getting some action.

 

As they wrapped up their talk, the announcer’s voice, crisp like the cold, rang out.

 

“This is your champion.”

 

An image rolled down from a holo banner, and Elliott stared up in awe as he saw himself there, grasping a gun and grinning.

 

“I didn’t get here alone,” his own voice said, booming across the ship. “I defeated a lot of people to get here.”

 

All eyes were on him now - some in awe, some in fear, some in hatred. Most in all three.

 

He almost missed the groan Wraith bit back at his champion quip. Almost.

 

Before he even had time to turn and make a joke at her, the ship’s door dropped open. A large horde of rookies jumped immediately, hoping that dropping into the bloodbath that was the Bunker region would bring them fame.

 

It wouldn’t. It’d bring them a body bag. But who was he to kill their fun?

 

They passed slowly over King’s Canyon, and with each moment, Elliott felt himself growing more and more eager. The games had made him incredibly famous - with each kill he’d earned, Elliott had carved out a larger piece of fame for himself. Being a champion was nothing shy of incredible, especially when you consider it was his first match. Sheer skill, he liked to remind his interviewers. Nothing less had gotten him where he was.

 

Thinking back to Pathfinder’s near destruction of the shooting range and Wraith’s strong arms as they sparred, he had no doubts his winning streak would stay intact.

 

Perhaps his mind lingered on Wraith a bit longer than their third squadmate, but that was mostly irrelevant.

 

Wraith rapping his arm brought him back to reality.

 

“Time to drop,” she said. “Ready up.”

 

They all double checked their jump packs were tight, and when everyone was ready, they jogged to the open hatch and threw themselves out.

 

The wind slapped his face and tore at his clothes as they spiraled down. Elliott threw out a decoy, hoping to deter any lingering squads on the ship from following them.

 

When his feet hit the ground, he was officially Mirage. And he was ready for a game.

 

To his right was a supply bin, and he yanked it open, quickly scooping up the frag grenade and shield cells inside. Wraith and Pathfinder had already jogged to the building on his left, so he ran to the one in front of him. The wood paneling lining the ground was slick with mud, and his feet stuck ever so slightly, causing him to hit the door with a light bang. Hopefully the cameras hadn’t caught that.

 

There was a spitfire on the ground, surrounded by some boxes of ammo and a second tier backpack. Mirage dropped to his knees, loading the gun before storing the extra ammunition in the bag and slinging it across his shoulders. No armor yet, but an automatic weapon was never something to complain about.

 

The rest of the building held relatively useless things, so he jogged over to his teammates. They had completely picked the building clean - Wraith clutched a Peacekeeper, and Pathfinder held a Prowler. Both were wrapped in tier one armor.

 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Mirage joked as he slipped between the two, joining them at the window. “What have we got?”

 

Wraith didn’t even jump as he crept up. Either she knew he was there, or had really awful reflexes. Hopefully the former, since that was less likely to kill them all.

 

“Enemy across the field,” she murmured, staring down a scope. Setting down the Peacekeeper beside her, Wraith took the sniper rifle laced across her back and positioned it on the window frame. Breath held, they all waited on her to pull the trigger and launch them into battle.

 

Instead, she cursed and looped it back around herself, snatching up the shotgun.

 

“Too far,” she said. “Let’s loot that building ahead of us and then wrap around.”

 

They nodded, and gun in hand, the three quickly ran to the next building, Pathfinder in the center with the other two flanking. With the door thrown open, he scooped up half the heavy ammo in the corner, pinging the rest for Pathfinder.

 

Wraith equipped a knockdown shield, kicking another toward Mirage.He grabbed it, hooking it up to his arm.

 

With a quick thanks, he began to run up the stairs.

 

There. Outside the door on the balcony gleamed a blue body shield, reflective and promising. He barely glanced outside before rushing for it, hand out to equip it.

 

His fingers barely brushed the collar before a searing pain ran up his spine. Mirage screamed as he collapsed. Sticky warm blood began to rush down his back, making his clothes cling to him.

 

Pulling himself forward, he grasped the shield. At his touch it wrapped around him, and he breathed out, knowing that for that exact moment he had some protection.

 

“Gettin’ shot at over here!” he cried into his speaker. Beneath him on the bottom floor, his teammates scrambled for the stairs. Pathfinder chirped an f-bomb.

 

He would have laughed if he wasn’t bleeding.

 

Gathering all the might he had, Mirage flipped over, ignoring how his back throbbed in fiery pain. He pulled himself to kneeling, cursing at the pool of red around him. It wasn’t looking good.

 

And there, probably 100 meters away - Gibraltar, Mirage believed he was named. The man had a Longbow aimed directly at his head.

 

He could use his ultimate, but it wasn’t ready yet. He cursed his luck.

 

Spitfire was automatic, at least. As Gibraltar’s ginger moves back to the trigger, Elliott lurched forward with his gun, firing in a reckless spray.

 

Twenty bullets clattered to the ground, but Gibraltar stumbled and fell. He wouldn’t be alone. No time to relax.

 

“Attention,” called the announcer. “First blood.”

 

As Wraith burst out the doorway behind him, he chuckled, grip on his gun failing and blood beginning to trail from his lips. Shaking hands grasped the exit wound on his abdomen.

 

“First blood,” he joked, coughing on the words. “That me or him?”

 

“Shut up,” Wraith hissed. She dropped to her knees next to him, throwing her backpack down. As Pathfinder stormed through the doorway and jumped down to hunt down the remaining two enemies, Wraith fumbled about in her bag.

 

The last thing he could think before he slumped unconscious was how cold her hands were.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff to help establish Pathfinder and Wraith more. I wrote this in an airport while existing solely on espresso shots and a criossant so please forgive any grammar errors

Mirage’s repose was the calmest she’d ever seen him, Wraith noted. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, eyes loosely shut. The red bloom across his abdomen was tightly and cleanly wrapped in bandage. It was the second set of gauze he’d gone through - though he’d been awake for none of it.

 

As the first night of the games, the only eliminated squad so far was the one Mirage and Pathfinder had taken out immediately after dropping in to the arena. After Wraith had stabilized Mirage’s condition, they’d set up camp in a small building, half consumed by the swamp. Small pools of water lapped at her as she sat beside his sleeping body.

 

Pathfinder didn’t need sleep, so he was on guard duty, but Wraith couldn’t sleep. The gunshots of before still rang in her ears. She choked on the memories of the facility and the gunshots that chased her out. And beside her he slept so peacefully, bleeding slowly.

 

It was jolting as he moved. Wraith stilled in her rocking, watching him with careful eyes. Returning champion come back from the brink. He’d been alright to train with, and she needed two partners to properly search for information.

 

Mirage groaned as he woke, and his mahogany eyes fluttered open.

“Ma...?” he mumbled, moving to sit up. He hissed in pain at the stress, and Wraith pressed a hand to his chest to ease him back down.

 

“Just me,” she said softly. “Don’t sit up.”

 

Pathfinder must have heard them, because he moved from his post at the door to come sit beside them. Wraith wondered idly if the water would hurt him.

 

“ _You’re awake, friend!”_ he chirped, his screen flashing a happy face.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Mirage replied, his voice strained. “How long was I out?”

 

“Few hours,” she muttered, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. “Didn’t miss anything. 19 squads still.”

 

_“We found you some armor!_ ” Pathfinder added. _“We all have blue armor and shields now.”_

 

He sighed, reaching beneath his head to adjust the lump of fabric beneath his head.

 

Wraith flushed. She had bundled her scarf up for a pillow as he slept. It was a tad embarrassing.

 

Out the window she gazed, listening to the buzz of insects and watching the stars. The moon illuminated the dilapidated buildings and muddy waters around them. She longed for a fire, but it would clearly give away their location.

 

Wraith also longed for some food, but she ignored the rumbling in her stomach. There’d be time for that later.

 

“Thank you,” Mirage mumbled. She looked back over to him, humming inquisitively.

 

“For what?” she asked.

 

Wraith had watched Mirage’s only prior Game. He’d been pretty much abandoned by his squad, and they’d run off to get themselves immediately eliminated. And even still he’d won with eight kills in his belt.

 

It was impressive, she wouldn’t lie. Between that and training she knew his strength. And the more she saw the real him, vulnerable and gentle, curled up on the shack floor - the more she could stand him. Maybe even like him.

 

If grandiose wasn’t all he was, he could be handled.

 

“For staying with me,” Mirage said, and his eyes spoke truth.

 

She smiled. Gentle, but there.

 

Pathfinder’s screen flashed a heart.

 

_“We will never abandon you, friend!”_

“‘Preciate it,” Mirage murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

 

Yeah, she could appreciate him a lot more when he wasn’t so loud.

 

“You can probably use another syringe now.” Enough time had passed where he wouldn’t OD on the painkillers it held, and she was sure he hurt. The wound on him was a nasty one.

 

He nodded. Wraith took a health pack from her bag, ignoring that it was their last. Just like before she rolled his sleeve up and firmly pressed it into his forearm. Veins glowing blue from the nano-medicine, Mirage groaned in relief.

 

“Guess I owe you dinner now, huh?” he mused as she pulled away. “Saved my life and all.”

 

_“I cannot eat, friend.”_

 

“That’s not....”

 

Wraith had to bite her lip not to laugh.

 

——

 

By the time morning crept into the sky, four other squads had met their end. Fifteen remained in the ring now, meaning fewer people to try and kill them. Always a plus.

 

Wraith woke before Mirage. She was used to waking up with the Sun, dawn’s gentle light enough to rouse her. Within several minutes she had her things gathered, hair retied, and joined Pathfinder in sitting at the door. They had yet to receive any assignments for a new ring, and Mirage had quite the wound to sleep off, and so she let him rest. When they had to move she’d get him up.

 

Pathfinder flashed her a heart eyed emoji as she sat beside him, legs crossed before her. Ignoring the muck of the swamp beneath her, she gave him a gentle greeting and rested her pistol in her lap. Just in case.

 

 

The two chatted about everything nothing for a time, content just to be still in the Game. Their conversation slowly slipped to their companion.

 

_“Do you think he’ll wake up soon?”_ Pathfinder asked, head tilting. “ _It’s quite a nasty shot. I was worried!”_

 

Wraith shrugged. “He lost a lot of blood. He’d sleep all day if we let him.”

 

_“I am happy he is alive.”_

 

“Me, too.”

 

She knew no death in the ring was permanent, but the pain was real. Wraith didn’t want to lose be disadvantaged in losing a partner, and she didn’t want him to suffer.

 

He’d been foolish to let his guard down, especially being a champion. It was, however, incredibly impressive he’d taken someone out while bleeding to death.

 

_“He looks at you, you know. When you’re not watching.”_

 

Wraith frowned at that. If his eyes were on her, why hasn’t her voices warned her? What was his motivation for watching her, and why was her head comfortable with it?

 

For image’s sake, she rolled her eyes and did her best to speak dismissively.

 

“He does that to any woman that exists near him.””

 

_“Men, too! He has quite the reputation!”_

 

At that, Wraith couldn’t help but laugh. “He really does.”

 

Pathfinder tapped his metallic fingers along the rotting floorboards. It creaked through the room in a steady beat. _“Where do you want to explore after here?”_

 

“The relay,” she immediately shot back. She bit her lip. Too quick an answer.

 

Pathfinder’s screen displayed a question mark.

 

“There’s... some things there of interest to me,” she spoke slowly, carefully choosing her words. To say too much would be too revealing. She was an enigma to the world, and she liked it that way. Rumors of the spawn of her powers, her history, was all fans had. She liked the privacy. And she would never admit the whispers that played in her mind.

 

The Relay was a former intelligence base for the IMC. It was a wonderful starting point for her search.

 

_“Looking for something?”_ The robot beeped.

 

Wraith nodded.

 

_“Me too.”_

 

Pathfinder was a genuine-hearted creature. Whatever he was hunting, she hoped he found it.

 

Behind them, Mirage groaned loudly to announce his being awake. She rolled her eyes at the melodrama, stood, and holstered her pistol. Once her rifle was on her back and Mirage had gathered his gear, Pathfinder chirped about the Relay holding good gear and sent out a zip line.

 

Her veins hummed. First Games, and her first chance to learn herself. She’d take down anyone she had to to reclaim her life.

 

With Mirage rebandaged and awake, the trio headed out, searching for answers and perhaps a fight.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! shoot me some comments below or at @shepherdsfate on tumblr! (✿╹◡╹)


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